


Quiet Angels and Rough Angles

by QuidProCrow



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuidProCrow/pseuds/QuidProCrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France and England decide to step back and try and make things work- and they start by stopping and staring and existing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Angels and Rough Angles

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write fluff....  
> ...and then I did. While listening to The Decemberists, who I've been listening to for seriously weeks. So!  
> For the fact that I don't usually write fluff, I think this turned out quite nice.  
> If you're curious, the song I wrote this to, the song that relates to the title, and the song that is in this fic is Angels and Angles by The Decemberists.

_There are angels in your angles  
there’s a low moon caught in your tangles…._

It’s a tangle of limbs and sheets and breathing. There’s moonlight leaving streaks over exposed skin and closed eyes and blankets.  
They are quietly existing in a room in England’s house- not a seedy hotel room, not an alleyway, not a kitchen floor or the underside of a living room coffee table. They are just- _there,_ entangled and- calm.

 _(Because France will call it being in love and England won’t. Words like that shouldn’t leave lips like theirs.)_

France is tracing fingertips over England’s shoulder blades, lingering over the scars and bumps and smooth skin. They’re falling into each other like puzzle pieces, they are. Like the two pieces you’d assume would not go together but look quite lovely in juxtaposition, in retrospect.

 _(Words aren’t enough right now. It’s more an expression, a quiet acceptance, eye contact and skin against skin. They have never been good with proper compliments and socially acceptable conversations. So this, right here, right now, is enough.)_

England has his hand in France’s free one, holding on tight in case either of them slip away _(because that’s possible, knowing them and their equally erratic romantic track records)_ , and he’s thinking about doubts and guilty consciences and how everything in this situation could go wrong.

 _(None of them were really meant to love.)_

France, on the other hand, is entirely confident that everything will go right, because it’s time something _did_ , for once. He drags his mind away from the star-crossed lovers that haunt the back-burners of his mind and how the past _(their past)_ is against them.

They’re both thinking that it’s time for some sort of perfection.

 _(They have the eternity ahead of them to right the mistakes and the rules that overpowered them in the past for decades.)_

Wars and worlds and conflicts are pressing in around their heads, and it’s suffocating, almost- because they shouldn’t be like this, together like this, they have better things to do, better wars to wage, better personal problems to solve, better quandaries to worry about than whether or not it’s all well and good to try and repair the damage they’ve been doing to each other for year after year and-

Then- eye contact, and the horizon meets itself, all jade and cerulean, and it’s a quiet compromise that they’re going to try this time.

 __

There’s the quiet elegance of lips against lips. The quiet elegance of breathing regrets and mistakes and promises into each other. They’re just existing, right here, right now, and that’s all they want. Not a seedy hotel room, not an alleyway, not the kitchen floor or the underside of a living room coffee table. Not harrowing arguments and socially unacceptable conversations and physical violence. It’s different.

It’s a collection- a new beginning- with tangled sheets and limbs and breathing. Moonlight leaving streaks over exposed skin. Closed eyes and wrinkled blankets. Logical romantic endeavors and a sensible relationship with sensible (but still possibly violent) conversations.

Puzzle pieces that look wonderful in juxtaposition but have entirely different patterns. Quiet angels fitting into rough angles.

 _There are angels in your angles,  
there’s a full moon caught in your tangles…._


End file.
